Words are simply that: words. Grouped sounds that try to express meaning and yet lack the full depth of that which they mean to convey.
That's the deep thought for today.
And now for something completely different:
On the farm front, the pigeons are getting impudent and may need some sense talked into them through the long end of a shotgun. I do like the birds around here but pigeons roost in the barn and then, not being nicely housetrained, crap all over whatever happens to be underneath them. Say, our tractor, for instance. And with their droppings being somewhat corrosive, it's not good.
Many of the summer birds are back now and yesterday was a bit of a scrum at the feeder. First in came waves of grackles (they had been sitting up in the tree, about a hundred of them, and walking outside I had this vague Hitchcockian feeling of unease), eating as messily as they always do, then in came the scolding blue jays and little wee juncos. The red-winged blackbirds likewise made an appearance. Meanwhile, the robins on the lawn hopped about wondering: why all the fuss over a few seeds? A downy woodpecker scrambled up the side of the tree poking here and there, likely thinking the same thing. The finches and swallows aren't back yet, but they'll come.
And the house cleaning saga continues.